The Chica and Her Man
by Vaniah
Summary: A random collection of Detty ficlets based on prompts. Mostly missing scenes taking place within S4.
1. Deadringer

DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything from Ugly Betty.

NOTES: So some of you may have already read these. It's a collection of completely random ficlets based on prompts we've been sharing over at the B&B Livejournal community, and I just felt like bundling them together in one place. I'll add more as they come. I don't think any of these will be post-series; I'm saving most of those ideas for Meet U in LDN.

Hope you enjoy!

* * *

PROMPT: _You remind me of someone._

Rifling through the photos spread out on the desk, Betty feels Daniel looking at her; his blue gaze sends a tingle up her back, starting from the bottom of her spine right up into her scalp. _That's new_, she thinks.

"What?" she says lightly. She finds it hard to stop herself from rubbing the back of her neck or, weirdly, pulling up the front of her dress. A matching pair of blue eyes stare up at her from the table. She reaches for her bubble tea, and ignores both.

"Anyone ever tell you that you look kind of like J. Lo?"

The bubble tea goes down the wrong pipe. Spluttering and coughing, she accepts the napkin he passes her, and dabs at her laughing mouth. "Oh my God, seriously?"

"Yeah, sure," he says, eyes dancing. "It's in your cheeks. And mouth."

She's laughing so hard said cheeks and mouth hurt. "No, definitely haven't heard that one before," she manages.

Daniel's grinning back. He moves closer to her chair and seats himself up on the desk beside her. "It's been bugging me for weeks, ever since you got your braces off. You can really see it now."

"Sure. If J. Lo ever saw the business end of a brownie."

He rolls his eyes. "Accept a compliment, Betty. Everybody loves her. I bet I won't be the only person to notice the resemblance now."

"Fine. Thank you, Daniel. Just call me Betty from the Block." A few stray sesame seeds from her sushi dust her lap. She stands up to brush them off her tight black skirt.

"Well, there's another feature you share with her."

"And what's that?" She twists to examine her thigh, where some more seeds are clinging. "Besides the obvious Latina thing, because that's all _I_ can think of."

He leans a little to the right, and Betty can't be sure because the lights in his office are dim, and he's sitting up there, and she's standing over here, but for a second she thinks he seriously just glanced at her ass.

Something crackles in the air, like that moment they met outside at the limo before Hilda's wedding.

Daniel's arches an eyebrow and smiles at her. "Perfect teeth, of course."

Betty plops back down in the wheelie office chair. Grabbing a photo off the desk, she holds it up, putting an incredulous look on her face.

"Anyone ever tell you _you_ look like Derek Zoolander?"

"Actually, yeah. But I don't wanna talk about it," he says, cringing. Then he gives a rumbling laugh, and despite the crackle, and despite the impending horrible conversation that is going to ruin this evening sooner or later, Betty feels at ease again. "What's wrong with that one?"

"Are you crazy? Look, you're doing your fishy face thing in this one..."

END


	2. Disorderly Conduct

PROMPT: _Getting thrown out of somewhere for running around, or being loud and obnoxious._

* * *

"Put your hat back on!"

"Relax. He's not looking up here."

"PUT IT ON. He'll recognise you!"

"So what if he does? He won't care about seeing _me_. I'm not the one who punched him in the face."

"Oh, God. Is that an Olsen twin he's with?"

"Possibly. Or a bag lady. I can't tell in this light."

"This was a stupid idea. _Your_ stupid idea!"

"That you're going along with."

"As if I had a choice. You practically carried me here against my will."

"Yeah. OH-kay, Betty."

"You did! It was your idea to follow him from the gallery opening. Creeper!"

"I'm sorry—who ordered the towncar driver to step on it and tail his cab?"

"I wanted nothing to do with this."

"Keep telling yourself that."

"I will. In the cab on my way home. I'm leaving."

"Why? This is hilarious. Look at that little prick. He was breathing down Genelia's dress less than half an hour ago. Tell me you don't want to spit on his head right now."

"I don't. This is totally beneath me."

"The hell it is. Punchy McPuncherstein."

"Oh, do not _even_ get me started, Daniel."

"Hey, I'm on your side here. I just wish I'd been there to see it in person."

"Don't worry. The YouTube video pretty much caught everything there was to see."

"Which reminds me, did I send you that remix video someone did to Good Girls Go Bad?"

"Yes. Thank you for that."

Crouched in his seat with a battered Yankees cap riding low on his face, Daniel's blue eyes gleam in the dark theatre. "Seriously, Betty. You were pretty badass. That'll teach Zachary Boule not to mess with a Jackson Heights girl."

Betty quirks a smile. "I did kind of fuck his shit up, didn't I?"

Daniel gives a shocked snort, choking on his popcorn. Betty shushes him, and they both duck lower in the balcony seats, sniggering helplessly.

The lights dim inside the historic theatre, and the red curtains covering the screen swoosh apart. The projector above their heads flickers to life. Old-timey music begins to play, and credits flash across the screen in a language that is definitely not English.

Betty can feel Daniel questioning eyebrow. "Zachary's really into Armenian silent cinema. He says their use of lighting to highlight pathos is sublime," she says with a straight face.

They exchange glances and burst into laughter. Attempting to stifle their guffaws, they fail miserably. From the floor seats below comes an angry "shhhhh!"

It takes them a few minutes to gather themselves. Wiping his eyes, Daniel passes her the popcorn bucket. "Seriously, what did you ever see in this guy?" he whispers.

She shrugs. "He had that intellectual cool nerd thing going on. Guess I thought it was sexy at the time."

After going four years without popcorn, Betty is indulging gluttonously now to make up for lost time. She tosses a few pieces in the air, catching most of them deftly in her mouth. The rest land in her cleavage. She gracelessly reaches in for them, missing Daniel's intrigued glance.

Daniel makes a weird face at her in the dark, sipping his giant soda. "Really? Since when is being a pretentious poser attractive?"

"It's not. I just said _at the time_. I know better now."

This is a little bit of a lie. After seeing Zachary Boule today at the gallery exhibit hosted by one of Mode's most prominent photographers, Betty has to admit she still thinks he's a little sexy. It pisses her off, but she can't deny the little jolt of lust she felt, despite the glamazon on his arm not dissimilar to the one he ditched her for at his play. He was a two-faced liar, but there was something about him that spoke to Betty's appreciation of personal transformation.

Plus, he was an amazing kisser.

_You're just stuck in a rut_, she thinks. With her braces finally off, she feels sexy and attractive and desirable for the first time in ages. With all that energy humming inside her and no outlet to be found, it's no wonder a douchebag like Zachary Boule is still registering on her radar. Since Matt, things have been pretty desolate on that front. It seems she's exhausted the rather small pool of potentials.

Beside her, Daniel slurps his soda with incredible force, sending Betty into hysterics and eliciting an angrier "SHHHHH!" from below.

"We're going to get kicked out," she manages, snatching the soda cup away just as Daniel is lifting it to his mouth again.

"Oh no. What if we get banned? How else am I going to get my silent film fix?"

They lose it completely, spilling popcorn all over themselves.

"Will you knock it off up there? This is a classic, okay?" It's Zachary Boule, standing up at his seat and straining to make them out through the backlighting from the projector.

Betty squeaks and nearly dives to the floor. Daniel rolls his eyes. "Relax. He can't see us. Look, he just sat down again."

"Daniel, this is stupid," she hisses from his elbow. "What are we doing here?"

He slowly grins. "This."

Daniel snatches a handful of popcorn, and before Betty can protest, starts lobbing them at the back of Zachary Boule's head.

"What the—? Hey!"

Daniel's aim is far from true, and the kernels hit the possible Olsen twin, as well as several nearby patrons, who yell in protest. Daniel doesn't seem to care as he continues to reload and fire more popcorn at the snotty playwright.

On the screen, a pot-bellied butler crashes a flower pot over his own head, weeping silently.

Betty's horror turns to glee, and she leaps to her feet, reaching into her pocket for napkins.

"That's no good. Try this." She pops the lid off the soda cup, soaks some napkins, and launches the wet mess, hitting Zachary Boule's shoulder with a _thwack_.

"Ow! What the hell!"

"Good idea!" Daniel follows suit, and they continue firing until Zachary ducks for cover under his seat. The other patrons scattered when the first wet napkin was thrown, and someone must've alerted security—a burly guard in a too-tight uniform is hiking the stairs to the balcony, shouting and brandishing a nightstick at them.

"Oh shit!" Daniel laughs, dipping the last of his napkins.

Betty pats down her pockets. "I'm out of ammunition! Let's get out of here!"

"Wait, I'm not done!"

"Daniel, he's coming!" Betty shouts, laughing helplessly. "Come on, come on!"

Clearly not intimidated by the huffing and puffing guard, Daniel leans right over the balcony and shouts, "Hey, asshole! Boule!"

Zachary looks up reflexively from behind the seats, squinting in the projector light. Winding up like a pitcher, Daniel launches one last extra-large napkin ball, hitting Zachary Boule square in the face. His black hipster glasses go flying, and Betty would feel really bad if she didn't know they were non-prescription glamour frames. The pretentious poser.

"Okay, now we can go!" Daniel grabs Betty's hand, dragging her along as they scrambled over the seats.

"Hold it right there!" the guard shouts, doubled over.

A second security guard, about as agile as the first one, attempts to block their exit. Dodging around him effortlessly, Daniel and Betty hurtle past shocked patrons in the lobby of the cinema. They burst out the front doors, and continue running for four more blocks, where they finally duck into a side street.

Doubled over and roaring with laughter, Betty lets go of Daniel's hand to clutch the stitch in her side. Tears run down their faces as they struggle to catch their breath.

"Oh my God. How old are we?" Betty giggles, reaching under her glasses to wipe her eyes.

Chuckling, Daniel leans against the brick wall. "Not too old to show an asshole what's what. Admit it. That felt good."

"Not even gonna lie. It totally did."

He looks over at her seriously. "He deserved it. For the way he treated you."

She nods. He did. She needs to look forward, focus her energy somewhere positive. Daniel's always been good at reminding her of this.

"How come I've never seen this violent streak in you until now?" he asks. "Would've come in real handy before."

"Like when?"

He grins. "Cal Hartley was really asking for it there for a while."

"What about Nick Pepper? Now _he_ was asking for it."

"Definitely. And that annoying Kenny guy from accounting."

Snorting, Betty mimics his stance against the wall and takes in the sight of him. He's endearingly dishevelled with his Yankees hat a little skewed, and his grey t-shirt spotted with diet Coke. He ineffectually wipes his soda-sticky hands on his jeans.

"Thanks," she says, smiling at the affection blossoming in her chest. Randomly, she thinks Sofia Reyes could've used some Queens-style justice, too.

"For what?"

"Just...thanks."

His blue eyes glitter as he looks at her fondly. "I told you before, Betty. Anyone messes with you, they're messing with me, too."

END


	3. Maybe She's Born With It

_Prompts: Watching someone applying makeup; 'how do I look?'_

NOTES: This pointless bit of nothing takes place the morning after Million Dollar Smile. This was supposed to end at the first scene, but honestly, I couldn't pass up an opportunity to write Wilhelmina and Marc.

* * *

MAYBE SHE'S BORN WITH IT

When Daniel stops in the doorway of the Features office early on Thursday morning, he see something he doesn't ever recall witnessing before.

Alone in the room, Betty sits at her desk, clad today in a purple and yellow abstract-patterned dress. Betty digs through her jumbo purse until she extracts a small black makeup compact, and three tubes of colour: two neutral, one definitely not. She lays them out on the table in a neat row, and dances her fingers contemplatively over the neutral ones. Then she sweeps those two back into her bag. She hunches close to the tiny mirror, and although he's seen millions of women do this millions of times before, Daniel still watches with interest as she purses her lips and carefully applies a layer of shiny gloss. The shade she chose matches the juicy Red Delicious apple he devoured earlier while rushing to work.

She presses her full lips together to even out the vibrant colour, glances behind her at the empty desks, and bares her teeth to check for spots. She scrutinizes her reflection. In a quick sweep, she gathers her long, gleaming hair up into a ponytail with her hand, tilting her head this way and that; frowning, she releases it and fluffs it about her face. Then she separates a few strands from the front, twists them behind her left ear and secures them with a bobby pin from her drawer. Daniel feels himself smile in response to the big, cheesy grin she gives herself in the mirror.

Betty is awfully cute when she's preening.

Daniel swings the glass door open and enters. "Hey. No candy hangover today?"

Betty looks up, startled. She slaps the compact shut and sweeps it off the desk into her gaping purse. "Hey! Uh, nope. I know my limits. No sense rotting these out of my head already. Not when I've been waiting four years to unwrap them. How did the rest of the bra shoot go?"

"Great. This issue is going to make headlines for sure. And get this: after you left, Eve sent Allison on a drugstore run for some painkillers for her face, and I had the pleasure of overhearing her say she was sore from using muscles she didn't even know she had. Like after sex."

Betty snorts, making an 'ugh' face as she logs onto her computer. "Thanks for sharing that at 8'o'clock in the morning." She clicks randomly through a few emails, then close the browser impatiently. "I know I shouldn't say this to my boss, but I really don't feel like doing any work today."

"Good thing your boss is a pretty chilled guy." He sits at the edge of her desk. "And that that's probably the first time I've ever heard you say that."

She perches on the end of her own chair, hands clasped between her knees, feet tap-dancing in their brown leather pumps. She's smiling enormously.

He grins down at her, forgetting what he came in here to talk about. "What're so you excited about?"

She gives a happy sigh. "I don't know" she admits, shrugging. "I just feel good. Charged up."

"Watch out, world."

"I know, right?" She flops back in her wheelie office chair and kicks herself into a spin. "It's weird, but I've been feeling like this since the minute the braces came off. It's like I can do anything now. Except maybe write 250 words about L'Oreal's addition to the vibrating mascara wand market. What a stupid idea. As if I want to stick something like that near my eye."

Daniel leans over and halts the chair. "There wasn't anything stopping you before. You know that, right?"

"I know. I do. But it's hard to explain. I just...I feel like the real me again. No distractions."

She's looking up at him from her slouched position, and with a little jolt Daniel realizes he can see down her dress. He sets her chair spinning again with a gentle push. "You've always been the real you. But I'm happy for you, Betty. I meant it yesterday. You look really...great."

He wishes he had the guts to say the word he's really thinking. For some reason he's having a hard time keeping his eyes off her shiny red mouth. Must be the novelty.

"Thank you." For a second, she shoots him the same funny, under-the-lashes glance as yesterday at the bra shoot after he enquired how her teeth felt, and he wonders what it means. She spins away from him, and he decides he just imagined it. "And thank you for being there with me. That was kind of scary, with Wilhelmina and Eve breathing down my neck..."

Secretly, Daniel is pleased that he was the first person out of everyone, even her family, to see her new smile. "My pleasure."

She halts the chair. "I guess you're here to make me work. So what's up?"

"Huh? Oh, right. Since you're feeling so antsy, how about something a little more hands on? I could use some help with the shoot downstairs later. The concept is—"

She pops out of her chair like a rocket. "Doesn't matter! Yes. Absolutely. Let's go."

Skirt swinging and heels clacking, Betty leads the charge out of the office. Daniel follows with a laugh.

* * *

The shoot is going smoother than expected, especially in light of being thrown together at the last minute when somebody in Creative decided that lace-overlay everything is the hot new look for summer. Betty works with the photographers, using her honed eye to explain the concept they are going for: dark and brooding, with heavy shadows and broken-down doll poses. Black lace over cream satin demanded that sort of depressed chic aesthetic.

About thirty minutes in, Wilhelmina powers into the studio wearing a stunning white sheath dress and a scowl. She crosses her arms and raises her eyebrow to her hairline. Daniel, who was working with the wardrobe guy, recognises the signs. He'd be an idiot not to by now.

"I hate this," Wilhelmina announces, and the entire studio stutters to a halt. The music cuts, the camera flashes go dark, and the models slump over, exhausted from holding up their enormous backcombed hair.

Daniel and Betty exchange weary glances. Wilhelmina's foot is tapping dangerously.

"What's the problem?" Daniel says. "Do I have to remind you that _your _department came up with this at literally the eleventh hour last night?"

"Yes, well. Since your bra-tinerary fiasco demanded all of my attention yesterday, I had Beth sign off on this one. Looks like somebody's getting fired."

"Oh, please don't, Wilhelmina," pleads Betty. "She still needs the company insurance for her rosacea treatments. It's really working wonders. Yesterday, she wore green!"

Wilhelmina approaches an intimidated young model, who quakes a little in her gladiator platforms. "Something's not right about...this," she says, waving at the model vaguely, and Daniel worries the girl is going to faint. "But I can't quite put my finger on it."

"Admitting sartorial defeat, Willie?" he teases, knowing he's treading on hazardous ground.

"I'm sorry. I forgot I was trying to have a serious conversation with someone who smells like sexual favours in the back of a cheap strip club."

"I just had a meeting with Kim Kardashian's perfume line people, okay? They were really aggressive."

He glances at Betty, but she's tapping her front tooth with her fingernail, which he imagines might become a new tic.

"The whole concept is too drab," Betty says, probably to herself. "It needs something to create contrast." Wilhelmina purses her lips and Betty quickly adds, "...might be some people's opinion?"

Wilhelmina raises an eyebrow. "Go on."

Betty looks nervous, but barrels on, gaining confidence. "It's just that...this is supposed to be a new trend for summer, right? She doesn't look very summery to me. At all. More like she's going to a funeral in St. Tropez."

Betty's right. The model is wearing lacy black formal shorts, a two hundred dollar plain black tank, a line of Sharpie Bold around her eyes, and a nude lip that makes her look a little seasick, in Daniel's guyish opinion.

Wilhelmina rolls her eyes. "Why am I not surprised? The girl who wears rainbow striped socks and isn't a lesbian thinks we need some colour."

Betty bites her lip. Daniel jumps in to defend her. "I think Betty's onto something."

"I didn't say she wasn't. Marc!"

Marc suddenly appears out of nowhere in that uncanny way of his. Daniel suspects he was hiding out in the rafters. "You rang?"

"Get the rest of Creative down here. Tell them to bring the sample pieces from Cartier's ethnic jewellery line. And do something...fun...with the set. Betty's right. Some colour will make the monochrome pop."

Marc's jaw drops, and he gives a sceptical laugh. "Sorry, Willie. Totally must've blanked there for a second. Did you just say Betty's right? About a fashion shoot? Involving clothes and...taste?"

"I give credit where it's due. Now scat or I'll change my mind about putting you in charge of the reshoot." She turns away to command the lighting guy to crank up the spotlights. Marc's face lights up, too.

Daniel grins smugly on Betty's behalf, because he knows she won't do it herself. "You heard her, Marc. Off you go."

Marc makes a hissing cat gesture at Daniel and Betty, but flounces off happily to do Wilhelmina's bidding.

Daniel turns to Betty with a smile. "You really are on top of the world today. That was impressive."

Betty shrugs. "For a long time, I thought the learning curve here was too steep for me. Guess I'm catching up."

Daniel has to agree. He also thinks that while she doesn't look _especially_ different without her braces, something about the old Betty is gone for good, and for some reason it makes him a little nostalgic. But her shoulders are thrown back, her chin is held high, her smile is even less hesitant than before (if that's possible), and he knows that the change is for the best.

Wilhelmina suddenly turns back to Betty, looking expectant. "And by the way, Betty. What on earth are you're wearing on your lips?"

Startled, Betty touches her lower lip self-consciously. "Um, MAC?"

"Line and shade?"

"Uh, Lustreglass. Venetian. I think."

Wilhelmina gives a sigh. "Honestly, Betty. Just when I think you're finally starting to get it right."

Daniel decides it's definitely time for him to step in. "Back off, Wilhelmina. Leave it on a pleasant note for once." Embarrassingly, he almost adds, _her mouth look amazing_, but prevents himself just in time.

Wilhelmina ignores him and beckons Betty over to one of the makeup chairs. Betty follows, glancing at Daniel uncertainly.

"That shade is for pasty white girls like Marc," Wilhelmina says, almost kindly. For her, anyway. She slaps a red tube and a tissue into Betty's hand. "Estee Lauder. Garnet Desire, no glitter finish. It'll whiten your teeth and bring out the gold undertones in your skin."

She strides away, heels clacking, leaving Daniel and Betty stunned.

Betty shrugs. "This is one area where I do trust Wilhelmina's intentions." She swipes at her lips with the tissue, and carefully applies the new colour. If she wonders why Daniel is still standing there like an idiot watching, she doesn't say.

"How do I look?" she asks, grinning. The colour is exactly the same. To his eye, anyway.

Daniel still can't summon the guts. "Great. Really great."


	4. One Plus One Is None?

PROMPT: Shattered glass

* * *

"This is just about the worst party we've ever been to," Daniel declared.

Quietly, of course. It wouldn't do for one of the Revlon hosts to hear him. MODE really needed the ad pages after a couple of reliable advertisers had declined renewing their contracts this month. And the Recessionista fad was doing very lucrative things for drugstore cosmetic sales. Betty had just submitted her 'What's Hot' column for the month, enthusing that fourteen Wet 'N' Wild lipsticks cost the same as one tube of Bobby Brown—even if the Wet 'N' Wild ones left bits of dry gunk in the corners of your mouth.

"It's not so bad," Betty sipped her cocktail and made a sour face. Too much cranberry juice. "Remember that L.A.M.B. thing a couple years back? When you prepositioned one of the Harajuku Girls and Gwen kicked you out?"

"Oh God. I forgot about that. I thought the silence meant she was, you know, down for it. I didn't know she was contractually banned from talking to people."

"Yeah. And then you made me leave with you before I had a chance to tell Gwen that Hollaback Girl was, like, my theme song that year. My _anthem_."

"I got you on the phone with her the next day, didn't I? Aren't you ever going to forgive me?"

Betty huffed, the old wound reopening as it often did. "It still brings up feelings. Sometimes I just need to express them, okay?"

The Revlon party was being held on the rooftop patio of the not-all-that-exclusive Sky Bar. The drinks were watered down and the food had run out an hour ago, leaving Betty and Daniel hungry and irritable after arriving too late to snag even a few canapés. And the DJ was atrocious. Every track played so far was too old to be current and too new to be retro, making the party sound like mid-2003. The dance floor was empty save for two lanky models bopping half-heartedly after Betty saw the host slip them each a fifty. Even Betty couldn't muster up any enthusiasm, and she was usually the first on the floor at these things.

"Do you think we've done enough time yet?" asked Daniel, downing the last of his cheap champagne. Kelly Clarkson's 'Miss Independent' cued up on the speakers.

"Let's just catch that publicist who's sleeping with the Marketing head. Then I think we can legitimately bounce."

"I'm sorry I dragged you out to this. I'm sure you'd rather be starting your weekend in Queens."

"It's okay. I'll head over in the morning. At least I got to break in these shoes a little for Hilda's wedding." Truthfully, the golden platform heels she'd picked up in London were even more torturous now than when she'd strapped them on hours ago. "Besides, this is our plus one agreement at work. Same as always. And now you owe _me_ a favour."

This made Daniel smile a little. "When do I not? By now, I'm pretty sure my firstborn belongs to you."

A little guiltily, Betty was counting on Daniel's sense of obligation when she agreed to accompany him (he hated schmoozing at cosmetics events solo. Something about feeling weird leaving with pockets full of eye shadow samples). She'd thrown herself face first into wedding and bachelorette plans, and ignored the whole business of finding a date until the last possible minute. In fact, she had been planning to go stag until last night, when Hilda had commented that three of their formerly-single cousins would be attending with boyfriends, and couldn't Betty please rustle up a dude for the night? Because Hilda didn't think it would be appropriate to go into attack-mode on her wedding day, which she might do if one of their aunts made a snotty comment about Betty's single status.

"Okay, not that I care at all what Tia Catarina says," Betty had snorted—their father's cousin was thrice divorced—"but even if I do bring someone, it's not going to be a boyfriend at this point."

"Doesn't matter. You just need that buffer guy." Hilda smacked Betty's shoulder, causing her to tear the delicate chiffon favour bag she was stuffing with Hershey's Kisses. "Duh, Betty! Why don't you bring Daniel?"

"Should I?" Betty unwrapped and ate two Kisses. Waste not, want not.

"Yeah! We all want him there anyway, but I don't know who else to cut from the list to slip him in. If he's your plus one, I don't have to give him an official invite and worry about _him_ bringing a plus one. I ain't forking over another $30 plate on a stranger, Betty."

The idea was so obvious Betty felt dull for not coming up with it herself. All week, she'd felt pangs of guilt every time Daniel asked how the wedding preparations were coming along. She could tell from the interested sparkle in his eye that he was hoping for an invite, but it wasn't her place to extend one until she was certain Hilda and Bobby could wrangle the guest list under control.

God, the Talercios were related to _everyone_. She seriously wondered if there wasn't some truth to the 'Mobby' thing, and if maybe some of Bobby's family really was, well...'family'.

Betty clucked disapprovingly as Daniel snagged another glass of bad champagne from a passing tray. The more of it he drank, the less discerning his taste became. And on an empty stomach, his coordination would start to go soon, too. Time to wrap things up. She needed him sober when she called in her favour—he might get offended if he got it in his head that she was asking at the last minute out of desperation. He could be weirdly touchy about that kind of thing.

"Come on. I'll call that publicist on Monday. Let's get out of here and find a Denny's. And stop drinking that before it gives you rot gut."

Daniel squinted at the flute in his hand and shrugged. "Good idea. I could murder a Grand Slam right now." He turned to set his unfinished glass on the bar—

—and sent champagne cascading over the breasts of a tall girl in a red bandage dress standing right behind him.

The girl cried out as the glass slipped from his hands and shattered at their feet. Betty jumped back instinctively, the price tag on her shoes flashing before her eyes.

It took Daniel a moment to spring into action. "Oh shit. I'm so sorry." He groped his chest pocket for a handkerchief while Betty, feeling the need to be helpful too, fished some tissues out of her clutch.

"Oh, wow! That's really cold!" The girl—a model, without a doubt—peeled the front of her dress completely away from her chest and started fanning down her cleavage.

Daniel paused, handkerchief clutched in his fingers. From the sidelines, Betty's eyes went wide at the view. _Really cold is right. _

"Here," she said, offering up the tissues in hopes that the girl would put her business away. "These might work a little better. Daniel?"

"Huh? Oh, right. God, I'm really, really sorry. I should've been paying more attention. I'll pay for the damage." He handed her the handkerchief, looking contrite as she dabbed her front. Betty could also tell he was struggling to keep his eyes above the girl's neck.

"It's okay, no big deal. It's a loaner from my roommate. Or maybe it's mine; I can't remember. We both have like a million of these in different colours." Then the girl looked closely at Daniel's face. Recognition lit her features, as well as the usual spark of interest. "Oh my God! You're Daniel Meade, aren't you?"

"I usually try to make a make a better first impression, but yeah. I am." Daniel offered his hand and she shook it enthusiastically.

"In that case, you can totally buy me a new dress! I'm Trista Barrett."

"Nice to meet you. Revlon model?"

"You betcha. I love that you guessed so fast!"

They were still shaking hands. Betty rolled her eyes, and stuck out her own. "And I'm Betty Suarez, by the way. Nice to meet you."

Daniel sheepishly dropped Trista's hand and gestured at Betty. "Right. Sorry. Betty's one of the features editors at MODE. She's here as my guest."

"Hi, Betty! How funny-that's my grandma's name, too!" She giggled, and for some reason so did Daniel. "Anyway, sorry, but I sort of overheard your convo right before you dunked me. Can I come to Denny's with you guys? I'm _starving_. I need pancakes with syrup and melted butter right now like it's my job."

"You eat? Butter?" Betty blurted without thinking. Daniel gave her a weird look, and she felt her face heat up.

Luckily, Trista didn't seem offended. "Totally surprising, right? Because I'm so skinny? I just have this _crazy_ fast metabolism. I can eat whatever I want and never put on any weight. My doctor says I'm actually kind of a medical miracle. Isn't that cool?"

"Very cool," Daniel said, nodding. A lot.

Betty smiled uncertainly—Trista had said it 'meta-BALL-ism'. "Yeah. You're very...lucky. Must make being a model a lot easier."

"I know, right?" She pressed her hand to her thin collarbone and dropped her voice. "I'm so glad I don't have to do any of that gross finger-down-my-throat stuff." She brightened, smiling hopefully at Daniel. "So. What do you say? Can I come? Oh my God, unless you guys are, like, on a date?"

Betty wondered why she was only asking this now. Daniel could've been her boyfriend for all she knew.

"No, not the case at all. You're welcome to join us. It's the least I can do for ruining your dress. Right, Betty?"

"Um..." She glanced at Daniel questioningly, but he had a look on his face that Betty hadn't seen in so long she almost forgot what it meant. His shoulders were sort of thrown back, making his chest look broader, and he was laser-focusing his baby blues on Trista. Recognition dawned on Betty: he was getting ready to go all Mack Daddy on this girl, and she found herself becoming unreasonably irritated with him.

Honestly, she was a _model_—and not an exceptionally bright one at that, it seemed. Wasn't he supposed to be looking past the obvious by now? Trista had giant white teeth, hair down to her butt, and legs up to her neck—everything about her was about as obvious as it comes.

Betty realised she was being a bit judgemental, but this scene was clichéd Petragate-era Daniel. Not post-Molly Daniel. She couldn't help but feel a little disappointed.

"Betty?" He was looking at her now, and this time with his 'please, just do me this _one_ last favour' expression. Which she was also very familiar with.

"Of course you're welcome, Trista." And because she seemed to have forgotten to add some enthusiasm to her tone, she tacked on, "It's not every day you see a model at Denny's. I'll have to take a picture in case nobody believes me."

To her credit, Trista seemed to think this was genuinely funny. Daniel thanked Betty with his eyes.

Betty mentally added another tick to his tab.

* * *

Trista wasn't kidding when she said she could eat. Betty couldn't help but feel a little envious as she watched the girl put away a stack of syrup-soaked pancakes three times as thick as her bony forearm. Betty was certain her own much smaller stack would show up on her ass by tomorrow morning.

Daniel's eyes lit up when the bill arrived, and he showed it to Trista. "Hey, look at that. Twenty bucks exactly. No change. That never happens."

"Oh, wow! Totally a good thing I didn't order that side of bacon, right?"

They both seemed to think this was very funny. Betty wanted to bang her head on the table. It's like Trista was sucking the brains out of Daniel's head. Around the time when Trista asked what the opposite of 'overbearing' was, and Daniel said 'bearing'—and that unlike his Co-Editor-in-Chief, he tried to be very 'bearing' with his staff, which is why everyone liked him more—Betty began to fear hers would be next.

They'd been like this all evening. There was no way Betty was going to ask Daniel to be her date for Hilda's wedding in front of Trista. Not when it seemed like he was gunning to spend some serious alone time with this girl. She didn't trust the blunt and rather tactless Trista not to say something that might embarrass them both.

She should have bailed on dinner all together, found some excuse to leave straight from the party. But instead Betty had followed the weird urge she'd felt to mess with Daniel's player game tonight. Now she regretted it sorely, and wanted badly to just climb into bed and read _War and Peace_.

Daniel dug into his jacket for his wallet and extracted a few bills. He paused, furrowing his brow. Betty watched incredulously as Daniel apparently tried to work out the ten percent tip on twenty bucks.

"Two dollars, Daniel," Betty supplied. She couldn't watch much more of this. "But you're rich, so you have to leave a little more than that."

He dropped two fifties and turned his attention back to Trista, who announced she needed the bathroom. _Thank God_, Betty thought.

"But don't worry. I'm not going in there to throw up," she assured them.

"Ha ha," Betty replied weakly.

Daniel waited until Trista was out of earshot, then turned in the booth. "Betty—"

She held up a hand, and started gathering her purse and cardigan. "Way ahead of you. Here, budge over and let me out."

Daniel slid out of the booth. "Thanks. I owe you big-time. I'll tell her you had some last-minute wedding emergency."

Betty snorted. She let him help her into her jacket, but was too annoyed to say anything that wasn't snotty or sarcastic.

"Hey, Betty," Daniel pressed a hand to Betty's arm, suddenly present with her again for the first time since he'd spilled his champagne. "I don't remember if I told you earlier, but...you look really nice tonight."

Betty felt her dander lower a little at his sincere expression. His eyes really were lovely when he made that face. "You did already. But thank you anyway."

"Welcome. Text me when you get in so I know you're home safe."

"I will. See you on Monday. Um, have fun."

"I will." He glanced towards the bathrooms. Betty listened for a leer in his tone, but surprisingly heard none.

Maybe he just genuinely liked this girl. Betty supposed she was kind of funny. And nicer than most models. It was probably a good thing he was getting out there again. She shouldn't be so judgemental.

"By the way. Do you think I should take her to the Rockefeller Centre?" He looked very earnest.

"Why? What's there?"

"You know, the big skating rink. Do you think I should take Trista there tonight? That's a fun date thing, right?"

It was May.

"Goodnight, Daniel," she sighed.

Maybe she should balance some chemical equations when she got home, too. Just in case.


	5. Bros Before Hos

Request fic for Yahtzee63: _Daniel's consternation at the wedding of Trista and Becks._

_

* * *

_

BROS BEFORE HOS

Daniel eased into his Monday morning with a strong coffee, a bag of cinnamon twists, and a crisp copy of the New York Times. Just in case anyone asked him, he flipped through the Financial pages and international headlines (damn, that volcano was still at it?), before examining the Sports pages with care, ignoring the Home and Garden section entirely, dutifully skimming the Fashion pages — and then dropping the newspaper onto his desk, and whipping out his iPhone. Page Six stared up at him as he scrolled through his contacts until he landed at 'S'.

_Should re-file him under 'D' for douchebag_, he thought angrily as he tapped CALL.

Evidently, the call was expected. "Not doing this with you, Danny Boy."

"What the _hell_, Becks."

"You dropped her, fair and square," Becks said cheerfully. "No buyer's regret now. Or refunder's regret. Whatever."

"This is just tacky. Beyond tacky. So far beyond tacky that — that — look, I can't even think of a good comparison. She and I broke up _a month ago_, you asshole."

"Love doesn't recognize trivialities like time, man. A month to you has been like a lifetime for us."

"Oh, you've got to be — you're seriously going to marry her? You two barely know each other!"

"I know all I need to know," Beck said sagely. "Trista Barrett is the woman of my dreams: skinny, hot, easy but not slutty. Totally doesn't care that I've banged, like, twice as many chicks as you —"

— some part of Daniel that will never entirely disappear snorted and went, _yeah, right_ —

" — plus she's got, you know. Personality and shit."

Daniel hesitated, because it wasn't very gentlemanly for him to say, but — "Becks, haven't you noticed she's not exactly. . . I mean, the dizzy model thing is cute at first; but then you're forgetting how to work the lock remote on your car keys, and before you know it you're convinced everything you know about American history is wrong, because Herbert Hoover wasn't a president, he was the guy that invented vacuum cleaners."

Just then, Betty walked into his office, clutching a small stack of papers and looking purposeful. Seeing that he was on the phone, she gestured out the door, indicating she could come back later, but he waved her in — there was nothing happening in this conversation he wasn't going to share with her later, anyway. She hesitated, but plopped down in the pod chair in front of his desk and immediately pulled out her Blackberry so as not to waste even a moment of productivity.

"So she's dumber than a box of rocks," Becks said. "Nobody's perfect, okay? Makes it easy as hell to impress her. Anyway, just because you're into brainy chicks these days, doesn't mean we all are."

"Huh?"

"How is Betty Boop anyway? It was weird seeing her again after all that time at Genelia's gallery thing — who knew she cleaned up so nice? She still rocking that fine behind?"

"What?"

Becks gave a lewd admiring grunt that made him sound like a frat boy. Daniel hoped he hadn't made that noise himself any time recently. "The T and A on that girl! Don't get me wrong; I like 'em skinny and at eye level — but there's something about a luscious booty like hers that just makes you wanna bend her over and — "

"Becks, I swear to God," Daniel barked. Startled, Betty looked up from her Blackberry, and he made an apologetic face as the tips of his ears turned red.

Becks snickered. "She's totally there right now, isn't she? Bet I can make you look at her boobs."

"Wha — dammit, Becks!" Daniel stared at ceiling as he said, "Listen. You're getting married. That means you've got to quit with — that stuff. Otherwise you'd better start looking for a divorce lawyer right now."

Betty didn't even pretend she wasn't listening in; Daniel supposed she couldn't entirely avoid developing an appreciation for really good gossip after all this time at MODE. She looked at him with an incredulous expression and mouthed, _Becks? Married?_

Daniel rolled his eyes like, _I know_.

"Ah, so now you're okay with it?" Becks asked.

"Fine, Becks. I'm happy for you. Marry whoever you want. But thanks a lot for giving me the heads up that it's my _ex_. _That's_ what I'm not cool with — my friends keeping stuff from me."

The papers, which Betty had been tapping into a neatly aligned rectangle, slipped from her fingers and scattered to the floor. Daniel automatically rose from his chair and circled the desk to help her tidy up, but she quickly swept them together and folded them in half in her lap.

"Look, bro. We both know you weren't serious about her. She's not the kind of girl you want anymore, which works out nicely for number one. But sorry for hurting your delicate feelings, you dickless wonder. We cool now?"

Daniel couldn't help but snort. "Yeah, you, um — " He glanced at Betty and held his tongue. "Jerk."

"Dick-less," Becks sang. "Anyway, I want you there at the wedding next Saturday."

"Next Saturday? What's with the rush job?"

"Trista wants to make it all official before her parents find out about that little, ah, incident last spring."

"The one where you spent three months in an Indonesian prison for trying to board a plane with a bag of mushrooms stuffed in your shoe?"

"That's the one. Anyway, bachelor party's this Friday at that titty bar on West 38th. Now, I know that's not your scene anymore, but you'd better reach anyway. For old times' sake."

"Fine. For old times' sake." He glanced at Betty again, and found himself hoping she didn't find out.

"Awesome. Look, I gotta go. I'm meeting Trista for a wedding cake tasting. God, one more thing I love about her — girl eats like a horse but you know she's never going to get fat. It's like a dream come true."

With that, Becks hung up before Daniel could get in another word.

Betty smirked at him. "Your ex, huh? So who's the lucky girl?"

"Trista."

Betty gaped. "What? Are you serious? I thought it was someone you two knew from before. Didn't you and Trista just break up, like, yesterday?"

"Seems like it to me, but apparently a lot's happened since then," Daniel grumbled. At Betty's prompting look, he went on. "She and I went on a double-date with Becks and — I don't know, some girl he photographed naked or another. Becks offered Trista some new headshots for free. Then Trista and I broke up a few days later, and the rest is apparently very condensed history."

Betty looked at him closely over the tops of her glasses. "Are you okay? You're not jealous, are you?"

"No. Of course not."

"Then what's the big deal?"

Daniel sighed and gave up. "It isn't actually a big deal. Just a dumb guy thing. Honestly, I'm already over it." He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "Doesn't mean I'm crazy about the idea of going to my ex-girlfriend's wedding by myself, though."

Oblivious, Betty nodded sympathetically. "Yeah, that kinda sucks. But maybe you can duck out early during the reception?"

Daniel continued to stare at her, willing her to read his mind.

She did, and held up her hands as though warding him away. "Oh no. No way. Daniel, come on!"

"Please, Betty?"

It wasn't the way he was hoping to ask Betty out — and since Hilda's wedding, he'd come to the worldview-tilting yet wonderful realization that that is exactly what he wanted to do — but maybe he could push his luck and take her to dinner afterwards. Somewhere with good wine and flickering candlelight. He'd bet she looked really pretty in candlelight.

"Daniel, I'm tired of weddings. I'm wedding-ed out. Look." She kicked off her shoe, wiggling her adorable size 6 foot and pointing at the Band-aid curved around her Achilles tendon. "The battle scars from the last one still haven't healed."

He smiled, remembering the way she had complained at Hilda and Bobby's reception, but refused to take the heels off for fear of shrinking to the height of one of the flower girls, and had outright scorned Daniel's suggestion that she sit down and rest for a while. She'd pulled him up for dance after dance, playful and joyous in his arms, and Daniel found himself eager to repeat that experience.

"You could wear flats," he teased.

"To a wedding? No way."

Daniel continued to wheedled her, partly just because he enjoyed the snotty expression on her face as she tried to be stubborn. He wondered if her reluctance to attend had something to do with the fact that Betty had never quite warmed up to Trista — which Daniel couldn't really figure out the reason for, because Betty liked everyone who was nice to her, and lots of people who weren't. Even Becks, whom she'd never exactly been crazy about, managed to get in her good graces recently by laying on thick the stories of his photojournalistic travels to Southeast Asian slums.

At any rate, Daniel widened his eyes and made his little boy face until she caved. Before she left his office, he promised he would make it worth her while, managing to keep the leer entirely out of his tone.

"Besides," he said, measuring his words so as not to reveal too much just yet, "I kind of feel like this past year we've been . . . I don't know. Not hanging out as much as we used to. I miss that. We should work on it, don't you think?"

Standing in the doorway with the papers clutched to her chest, Betty had an odd expression on her face. She pursed her lips, eyebrows drawn as she stared at the ceiling. He wondered if she was getting emotional at his words.

All she said was, "Yeah. I know what you mean. I'll see you later, Daniel."

Daniel stared at the door for a moment after she left, but then shrugged. His mood soared as he sat at his desk and scrolled through his contacts on his phone, contemplating where to book a reservation for dinner. In his happiness, he realised he'd forgotten to ask Betty what she'd come into his office to talk about — but he supposed it can't have been very important. Besides, he had something else to think about:

A bride he was still making out with when his last MasterCard bill had arrived, and a groom who'd once towel-snapped his ass so hard in the locker room that he wasn't able to sit comfortably for three days.

Did Hallmark have a card for that?

END


	6. Confounded

Notes: A missing moment from "Level (7) With Me" referenced in my AU fic, "Undertow." Enormous thanks to **boidwriter** for helping me out with this piece, especially the last scene. Rock on, awesome lady.

* * *

CONFOUNDED

Claire Meade sits primly beside Betty, though if her legs and arms were crossed any tighter she'd be a circus act. "I will pay you one hundred dollars, right now, to jump the curb."

The sidewalk is packed with Friday night pedestrians. "I don't think so, lady."

"Then step on it."

The cab can't possibly inch down West 42nd any slower. Betty staccato slaps the vinyl seat anxiously, but stops when the driver shoots her a dirty glare in his rear view.

"We're almost there," Betty mutters. Mostly to reassure herself, because Matt's words keep ringing around her brain: _"Someone died."_

Daniel could be dead. Right now. In a heap on the floor, surrounded by Molly's treasures, with those stupid, stupid, _goddamn_ beads around his neck. And an argument as the last words between them.

Betty swallows the gorge rising in her throat.

"If that man has touched a hair on my boy's head, I will kill him," Claire says calmly. "I've done it before. I hear it's easier the second time."

"Me, too. I mean, not the killing-before thing. The killing-now part." The cab doesn't make the green light. Betty digs her nails into the headrest in front of her. "That Bennett guy, he has no right. _No_ _right_ to interfere with peoples' lives like this."

"Cult leaders aren't exactly known for their understanding of personal boundaries, Betty."

"He's just . . . terrible. Awful. He said things to me about my mother." Claire looks at her sharply with a protective glint in her eye; it comforts Betty a little. "He tried to make me feel guilty that I don't think about her every second of every day. But I can't, Mrs. Meade. I just can't. I couldn't get through the day if I did. Is that awful?"

"Oh darling, of course not. Believe me, it's what your mother wanted. To be forgotten a little, so her loved ones could carry on living without her. She would never, _ever_ have wanted to see you trapped by your grief."

Betty meets Claire's eyes sadly. "And neither did Molly."

"Oh, God. How did we let this happen?" Claire mutters, winding her necklace through her fingers. The chain is near ready to snap. At Betty's stricken expression, she backpedals. "That's not what I meant, Betty. Of course it isn't your responsibility to – "

"He is," Betty says firmly. "Daniel means the world to me, and I should've been there. But I thought they were helping him, I really did. It's just . . . he wouldn't talk to anybody else about what he was going through. How alone he felt." Their conversation on the bridge right after the disastrous UN shoot echoes in her head. She told him to talk to someone, someone that wasn't her. At the time, she thought he needed an objective outsider whom he wouldn't feel worried about burdening. "I never imagined – a _cult_."

"I know. That's how these people work, Betty." Claire smiles, bitter and self-recriminating. "My son has deep issues with – abandonment, you could say, and Bennett saw that. This Level 7 nonsense, it's exactly what Daniel wants to hear right now."

"Well, they can't have him. He's ours, and we're going to get him back. Oh, thank God, there's her building." Leaning up to the driver, Betty says, "We're close enough. Stop here, please."

Betty hops out of the cab while it's still rolling to a stop. Thrusting a couple of twenties at the driver, Claire follows close behind.

* * *

Inside Molly's apartment, it's a staggering relief to find Daniel not only alive, but awake and sitting upright. In fact, Daniel gazes up at Betty so happily and with such clear eyes that, at first, Betty is certain there is nothing wrong with him.

Natalie, on the other hand, is slumped over on the stool across from Daniel, barely conscious. When Betty steps inside the bizarre, ritualistic circle of lamps and candles, she still manages to bat weakly at Betty's back in an attempt to push her out of Daniel's sight.

"Molly! I missed you _so_ _much_," Daniel says, grinning at Betty.

Betty's stomach sinks into her shoes. She squats down to his level, gripping his knees. He's trembling slightly. "I know," she says, and then unthinkingly adds, "I've missed you too."

Out of her peripheral vision, she sees Claire whip her head around to stare at Betty. She has Bennett's arm in a death grip with one hand, the other presumably dialling 911 on her cell.

Expression glowing, Daniel says, "We can be together now. We can be together _forever_. That's all I ever wanted."

Oh, God. "Me, too."

Daniel grips her knuckles with cold, clammy palms. The trembling worsens, but he sighs happily. "I can't believe you're here."

Betty can't stand this. She has to snap him out of it, but panic freezes her thoughts in place. She glances around the room desperately. Claire Meade nods at her encouragingly, and a thought hits her.

"Daniel," Betty says, pitching her voice low and gentle, "remember when I told you I never wanted you to forget me?"

He nods with childish conviction. "And I never, ever will."

"But you have to. Just a little bit."

Daniel looks at her indulgently, as though she just told a cheesy joke. "What are you talking about?"

"This isn't real, Daniel." Behind her, Natalie moans with rage, tugging ineffectually at Betty's hair. Betty's gut clenches at the denial already rising in his eyes, but she carries on. "I'm gone, and you can't live your life pretending that I'm not." Daniel follows Betty's face as she rises to her feet, his eyes wide with confusion. "You have to let her go. Daniel, _you have to let her go_."

"Wait, who's her?" He shakes his head and stands up with her, knocking over the tray of teacups beside him. Betty doubts he even heard the tinkling crash. "Molly, I did this for _you_. To – to be with you."

It takes everything in Betty to persist; his confusion and fright, rising by the second, brings tears to her eyes. She grasps both of his hands, weaving her fingers through his until their palms are pressed together at their sides. "Let Molly go."

Agitated, he shifts his weight as though preparing to run. Betty squeezes his hands tighter. "Why are you calling yourself Molly?" he demands. Sweat soaks his brow, and his eyes can't seem to track her. "Stop, okay?"

"Let her go."

"I can't!" Something changes, she can feel it. His eyes well with tears, and he takes a shuddering breath. "I never got to say goodbye."

Shoulders weighed down with hurt and guilt, it swiftly becomes clear to Betty what he wants. Her already racing heart picks up speed – but she knows what to do.

"Then say it now. I'm right here." She steps closer, whispering with an intimate invitation in her tone she's never dreamed of using before with him. "Say goodbye to me."

Sorrow adds lines to his face that weren't there moments ago, making him seem far older than his 35 years, but that isn't what Betty sees: Instead, her breath catches at the way he's gazing at her. At Molly. Like she's the most precious thing he has and will ever see.

Betty realizes she didn't really understand until this very moment how deeply Daniel loved Molly. Their short, doomed relationship cracked open a vulnerability that she, Betty, never even knew existed in him. For Bennett, it made him an open target for the bogus pseudo-spirituality the Community has been steadily feeding Daniel for weeks. Daniel's wealth and influence, slowly and unknowingly handed over, all for the promise of seeing his dead wife again. Of speaking to her. Touching her, like he is right now, caressing Betty's palms with his thumbs.

To Betty, it makes him . . . beautiful. Compelling in a way she doesn't entirely understand. Her skin goes warm as Daniel traces over her features, his eyes sketching out a face that isn't hers.

"Goodbye, Molly," he whispers raggedly.

Then, as Betty predicted – intentioned, really – Daniel begins leaning down toward her, eyes drifting shut, expression free from pain.

A great deal less intentionally, Betty finds herself stretching up to meet him. Her eyes close, her lips even part as he comes closer, but it's when Betty feels the brush of his beard against her cheek that reality hits.

_Oh, God. _What the hell is she doing?

Betty's eyes fly open, and she drops back down onto her heels. Blood pounds through her veins hard enough to make her dizzy.

Daniel's kiss lands on her forehead.

The beads around his neck fall forward to rest against Betty's breasts, felt even through her thick red coat. He's soaked in sweat now, but it's the clean kind, like after a workout. She releases one of his hands to circle his waist, where she can feel the bones of his ribs through his damp blue dress shirt: Evidence of how much weight he's dropped in just a few weeks.

Guilt stabs her even as his lips continue lingering on her skin. She tightens her one-armed embrace, making all sorts of silent promises to him, and to herself.

As he pulls back, Claire moves to Betty's side; despite the ghostly pallor of her skin, she smiles archly. Across the room, Bennett consoles a distraught Natalie.

Betty avoids Claire's eyes, focusing on Daniel. His eyes remain squeezed shut for several moments, as though unwilling to step out of his dream – but when does, she sees understanding finally creep upon him. It breaks Betty's heart to pieces.

"Betty?" Glassy eyed, Daniel struggles to focus. "Mom?"

"Darling, are you alright?"

Suddenly, his trembling stops and so does the sweating. Betty recalls from high school first-aid class that this is a really bad sign. Sure enough, what little colour remained on his face drains away, and his eyes roll back in his head frighteningly.

"Daniel!" Betty cries out as his knees buckle beneath him. Barely able to support his limp weight, she and Claire guide Daniel back down onto the ottoman. "Can you hear me, Daniel?"

"Stay with us, son."

" . . . going to . . . "

Suddenly Daniel doubles over with a groan, head between his knees. His entire body seems to clench in agony, his drenched shirt straining across his shoulders; for a terrifying moment, Betty is certain he's going into a seizure. She drops on her knees beside him, ready to stick her fingers in his mouth to keep him from swallowing his tongue or whatever.

But Claire is quicker to recognize the symptoms; a nearby trashcan is thrust under Daniel's face just in time.

"It's okay, darling," Claire murmurs soothingly, rubbing Daniel's heaving back as he retches as violently as Betty has ever seen. "Get rid of it. You'll feel better soon. That's it, sweetheart. Betty, would you get him a glass of water, please?"

"Yes, sure. Of course. I'll be right back, Daniel. Just, uh, sit tight," she says, although she's not certain he can hear her. She fetches the water, and in a kitchen drawer finds a half-finished roll of Wint-o-Green Life Savers to help settle his stomach.

In the alcove space beside the living room, Bennett Wallace has his arm around Natalie, who is still weeping into his shoulder. His expression is placid and emotionless. Natalie, meanwhile, seems entirely incoherent, although Betty can make out, "Robbie!" and ". . . need him!" between sobs as fierce as Daniel's illness in the next room.

"You're all about karma and universal balance, right?" Betty demands, infuriated by the manipulative display. "Well, you're going to get what's coming to you for doing this to him, and to others. Better put those beads somewhere safe. I don't think they'll let you wear them in _prison_."

He continues rocking Natalie. "Is that so?"

"The police are on their way. Last time I checked, drugging people is pretty illegal."

At this, Bennett acknowledges Betty, although not with the terror of someone caught in the act. He gently dabs away the tears on Natalie's cheeks with his thumbs, a gesture that sends a shudder of revulsion up Betty's spine. "Try anything you'd like. But the Community of the Phoenix will maintain that Daniel Meade was an entirely willing participant in everything that happened here tonight."

He nods toward the broken teacups, where a pool of perfectly clear liquid soaks the rug.

". . . you mean, so far as anyone can prove. Right?" Bitterness wrenches her gut. The drugs must be untraceable. It would explain how the Community has been able to operate under the radar all this time.

"We bring hope and happiness to those in need, young girl. I fail to understand why this is such a problem for you."

"Look at her! You call _that_ happiness? You're just selling illusions."

"Most things that make us happy are, at least for those who've yet to attain true inner harmony. Daniel's trauma was deep, too deep to be healed by the company of the braying, spiritually void people in his life." Stroking Natalie's dark bob, he stands up and approaches Betty with the same penetrating gaze as when he probed about her mother. "I don't believe singing karaoke at a pizza parlour would've done him much good, either."

Throwing the glass of water in his face, Betty finds herself hoping everything her mother and Padre Martinez from Sunday school told her about sinners is true. "Go to hell."

* * *

Back in the living room, Daniel's no longer throwing up, but has the pinched expression of someone who might start again soon. Pacing by the door, Claire mutters into her cell, likely with a lawyer but possibly a hit man. A siren wails in the distance, too faint for Betty to determine yet if it's coming for them, or answering one of the hundreds of other emergency calls made every night in New York City.

Kneeling beside his ottoman, Betty controls her trembling hands enough to help Daniel sip his refilled water. He looks at her over the glass, and Betty can read the embarrassment and shame in his eyes. Despite the new lines around them, they're stunningly blue. More so than Betty ever realized before.

"Don't," she says. She pops a Life Saver out of the ragged foil tube and passes it to him. He puts it in his mouth, and then tips himself forward until his forehead is resting on Betty's shoulder.

"Thank you."

He sounds exhausted. The mint and his faded cologne mostly cover the sour scent of sickness, but he's still damp and clammy all over. Betty wraps her arms around his shoulders, her throat tight.

"Don't go away like that ever again. Okay?"

The beard brushes her neck as he nods. "Okay."

Betty squeezes him tighter, knowing her happiness is thoroughly real.

* * *

The following Sunday afternoon, Daniel and Betty are back in Molly's apartment together, Daniel newly determined to grieve in a healthy way. This time the sunshine pours in through the open windows, there's not a teacup or candle in sight – and Daniel is asking the exact question Betty hoped he wouldn't ever.

"So . . . did we? You know."

Betty is a terrible liar, especially to him. ". . . yeah."

"Oh." He looks distinctly uncomfortable, but also like he's trying not to show it. He doesn't want to hurt her feelings by overreacting.

That's fine with her. She's weirded out enough for the both of them.

A memory pops into Betty's head, from years ago: Henry dragging her to see _Hostel_, even though she hates horror movies. It was during the height of their playful sex phase, when they were determined to try anything and everything while they still had the chance. He'd told her, as suggestively as one can explain the results of a science experiment, that adrenaline and physical attraction were highly correlated. Crank up one, and the other went up with it. He'd then sheepishly gone on to confess that taking your date out to a scary movie was listed under Cosmo's latest random-number-of-ways-to-spice-things-up article. It had worked.

Presently, Betty's eye catches on the dangling drawstring on Daniel's track pants for some reason. She looks away and clarifies herself, for both their sakes. "Well, sort of. You kissed me around the eyebrow. I'm a lot shorter than Molly."

He chuckles, she makes a joke about the stupid Phoenix beads before throwing them in the trash with relish, and equilibrium is restored between them. Determined to keep her quiet promises, she throws herself into being the sunny, friendly companion Daniel has always known in her. She won't soon forget the stark terror of facing the very real prospect of losing him – but being here like this, listening to him explain the cute story behind Molly's broken jewellery hanger full of stickers, it's hard to feel anything but happy. Thoroughly, authentically happy.

Betty still turns down his casual offer to check out today's matinee showing of _Paranormal Activity 2_.

**END **


	7. AlphaBetty Soup

**Notes:** Nicked this cool little writing exercise from **elise50** over at the Daniel/Betty Livejournal community – except I totally cheated. I tried and tried to limit these to single sentences, but holy shit that's _hard_. I just couldn't do it, so most of them turned into miniature scenes. I also restricted myself to within-series moments only, which made it doubly difficult. But I kind of like some of these, and I hope you do too.

Some are a little raunchy, just skimming an R rating.

* * *

**Attitude**

"You won't get far with that attitude," Betty tells Daniel when he crumples a layout change they've been poring over for hours, and hurls it across the room.

They hold a silent glaring contest. He loses, retrieves the proof, smoothes out the creases. She pats him on the head like a kindergarten teacher, flattening his hair. He bats her away, but doesn't really mind.

**Bubble Gum**

The day after her braces come off, Daniel buys her a pack of strawberry Hubba Bubba. Inhaling the delicious scent of double-dutch and summer vacation, she looks at him regretfully and confesses she doesn't remember how to blow bubbles anymore. Betty watches his tongue slip around in his mouth, past his lips sometimes, as he teaches her.

**Charming**

On their late-night jaunt around Brooklyn, somewhere between crashing the Muzzis' wedding reception but before deciding to check out the view from the Brooklyn Bridge, they pick up an orange and white striped stalker. Betty coaxes the tatty creature closer with a hunk of mushy vanilla sponge cake, delighted when it takes the bait.

"You don't know where that's been," Daniel warns when she scoops up the tiny kitten, snuggling it against her puffy blue coat. "What if it has rabies?"

"I'm too fwiendly to have wabies, you mean human." She hoists the kitten high, its orange face cheek-to-cheek with her own. The tabby yawns widely, baring its miniature fangs at Daniel. Cheeks rosy from two and a half glasses of red wine, Betty does the same, wrinkling her nose and showing off her braces.

**Dreams**

After the Guggenheim, after the candy corn and new lipstick, after practicing all her new smiles in the mirror . . . Betty dreams. In burning, erotic detail.

She wakes up coming, but by the time she stops gasping and clenching, the memory of what set her ablaze in the first place is gone.

**Exclude**

Daniel rarely enters the cafeteria, but he forgot to tell Betty about the fresh squeezed orange juice he craves every day around noon. Even he can't figure out a way work that into his get-Betty-to-quit scheme, so he fetches it himself.

She sits alone at a table near the back, ostensibly reading a thick novel. There's no way she can't hear the whispers or feel the stares.

He finds himself calling out across the room.

"Betty. Sorry to cut your lunch short, but I have a job for you. Top priority."

The whispers hush. Daniel bites the inside of his cheek.

"Sure thing, boss." Betty snaps the novel shut, and tucks it away in her tasselled bag, her movements quick and efficient. After a beat of hesitation, she dumps the remainder of her lunch in the trash.

Then she straightens her shoulders, game face on, and follows him out of the cafeteria, notepad and pen already out to jot down his instructions. He sees Amanda shoot Betty a dirty glare.

"Right. You know my dry cleaners two blocks over . . . ?"

**Facebook**

One really bad morning, Daniel spends over an hour clicking through Betty's Facebook profile. He reads her most recent status update (_"Shopping on Oxford Street with Christina McKinney – wish she would tell me why we're avoiding some place called "Primark"!_), her old status updates, flips through the album of photos from her 26th birthday party just a few weeks ago. He right-clicks and saves a picture of himself feeding her a hunk of white chocolate-raspberry cake, the pair of them caught unflatteringly in mid-hysterics.

For now, he avoids the newest photo album, giddily entitled, "Just Touched Down in Londontown!"

They have over 50 friends in common, but it's the unfamiliar names he fixates on, like Darius Bramwell and Trina DiPaulo-Pappis. And aside from Hilda, Justin and Ignacio, there are half a dozen other people with the last name Suarez on her Friends page. Daniel has no idea who they are. Cousins, maybe?

He hates, _hates_ himself for never finding out.

**Glorious**

Betty worriedly blinks up at his foolish, gaping expression. "What? Why are you looking at me like that? Is something wrong?"

He laughs, feeling as though someone sucker punched him with a downy pillow. "Betty, you look . . . great."

She smiles at him in relief. He's the first person in the entire world, he realizes, to see this. It's like watching a sunrise: Familiar, and yet utterly glorious now that he's looking straight into the light.

**Hot**

"Oh my God." Betty flops down in the empty reception chair beside Daniel, fanning her red face and neck with a napkin. She undid her sleek updo over an hour ago, leaving her hair to tumble somewhat riotously around her neck and shoulders. "Who killed the air conditioning in here?"

"It's still on. You just can't feel it because you're heating up the dance floor," he teases. His own jacket and tie lay draped over the back of his chair, his top buttons and cuffs undone.

"Is that so?" She giggles, bopping along to the beat in her seat. The ruched shoulder of her emerald dress slips down; she seems not to notice or care that he can now tell she's wearing a strapless bra. "Come on. Break's over. Show me what else you've got."

Inherit 

Betty never asks him, not once – not even during the petty arguments and big blow-outs she's refereed between him and Alexis – if Daniel really, _actually_ wants control of Meade Publications.

She understands that it's not the point. The two of them will deal with that part later, together.

**Joke**

Their last night in the Bahamas, Daniel invites Betty to join him and Marc at the bar for a few final rounds of umbrella cocktails. They're dead cheap here, and he knows how Betty loves her sweet mixed drinks.

Four mai tais in, Marc recites a surprisingly straight joke about a divorced woman who's a virgin despite being married three other times.

" . . . 'and my second husband', she goes, 'was an artist so all wanted to do was _look_ at it'," Marc slurs, grinning around his bendy straw. Mortified, Daniel covers his face, avoiding Betty's eye. "'My third husband was a stamp collector', she says, 'and all he wanted to do was . . . wait,why did I leave him again?'"

Daniel peeks through his fingers when Betty bursts into peals of laughter, spilling her banana daiquiri everywhere.

**Kiss**

The moment she pulls away from Daniel Meade's pretty lips, Hilda knows Betty is going to hold this against her for a _long_ time.

**Literature**

In snowy February, Daniel ducks into a used book store while waiting for the town car to circle around the block. He doesn't venture in much past the doorway, so it's pure luck that the vintage, leather bound Shakespeare anthology displayed on the checkout desk catches his eye. He purchases it on the spot.

He doesn't remember when Betty's birthday is – or Shakespeare's for that matter – but he does remember Betty's glowing pride when she told Daniel that she was born exactly 420 years after the legendary playwright.

He'll Google it later.

**Magic**

"Shut. Up." Betty gapes at the two fanned-out tickets in Daniel's hand. "Shut up, shut up, shut _up_."

"Justin's really into the movies, right? Seriously, I've been to like five of these. I have no idea what they're even about anymore. You guys want to go in my place?"

Betty is speechless. She snatches up the red carpet premier passes, clutching them to her pounding heart. "Oh my God, I'm _totally_ wearing the Gryffindor scarf I knitted in college!"

**Notebook**

On their way to a meeting with Betsey Johnson, Daniel taps away on his phone, refreshing his email again and again to give him something to do in the silent town car. Beside him, Betty pores over his day planner, scheduling out his week with almost military efficiency.

It's her first day back at work, and he's not sure how to talk to her. He doesn't know what to do with this grim, sunken Betty.

Glancing over at the day planner in her lap, Daniel's heart sinks as her pen scrawls mindlessly across the page.

_Miss him love him so much_

_Bring him back _

_B + H _

_What did I do wrong_

_NOT FAIR NOT FAIR NOT FAIRNOTFAIRNOTFAIR _–

Gentle swirling hearts and flowers float beside harsh block print. Daniel watches helplessly as Betty scratches one spot over and over again, until the page rips right between his dentist appointment on Wednesday and Thursday's meeting with editorial. She appears not to realize.

Gently, Daniel plucks the pen from her fingers.

As Betty's expression crumbles, Daniel taps the glass and asks the driver to keep circling around the block.

**Ocean**

As their plane tilts to complete its descent into Nassau International Airport, Betty's window view is filled with clear turquoise, deep teal and sparkling cerulean. The rich colours flood her with inspiration, although she doesn't know yet how it'll manifest. Probably as shoes. She doesn't have enough blue shoes in her new wardrobe yet.

She reaches across Amanda – passed out and snoring after six glasses of complimentary first-class champagne – and jostles Daniel, still dozing with his iPod headphones plugged in.

"It's my first time seeing the ocean," she whispers, mindful of the serious concentration required to land a plane.

His eyes remain shut. "You go to the Jersey Shore like every summer."

"That doesn't even count. Just look."

He sighs, but tugs out his earphones and leans across Amanda. The plane tilts again, and the sky and sea seem to blend together, the horizon line indistinguishable in all that blue.

Daniel looks up at Betty and smiles sleepily, his eyes squinting a little against the tropical Bahamian sunshine. "You're right. Very pretty."

**Private**

Daniel showers and puts on some real clothes for the first time in two weeks. With a mind to help Betty tidy up the disaster he created in his loft while pretending to be in Rio, he steps out of the bathroom – only to find Betty staring into his bedside table drawer.

He freezes in his tracks.

Betty slams the drawer shut so hard the lamp tips over. Eyes wide, she clutches a stack of folded-up pyjama pants in front of her. "I, uh, thought that might be where you keep these."

Daniel has to clear his throat twice before he can speak. "In the closet. Second shelf."

**Quiet**

"Can we put on a movie or something? It's just . . . it's kind of quiet in here."

Outside Molly's apartment police sirens howl, cabbies honk, and judging from the garbled swearing a fight might be about to break out. To Betty, it seems she can barely hear her own (scrambled, panicked, disorganized) thoughts on tomorrow's UN shoot.

"How about something Disney?" Betty asks.

**Roach**

Daniel finds Betty pacing outside her apartment door, clutching a heavy winter boot. She's wearing rubber ducky pyjama pants and a Queensborough High sweatshirt, her hair in two mussed braids.

"Daniel! What are you – oh. Right. That's still happening." After an awkward beat, Betty holds out the boot. "So it's like the size of my face. Help?"

Ah, the great six-legged equalizers of New York City. No amount of money can buy immunity from one crawling out of your drain or heating duct.

Daniel doesn't want to, but he doesn't want to see that look on Betty's face again even more. The one he just received as he eased Amanda's door shut behind himself.

He takes the boot. "Where'd you see it last?"

**Single**

As Betty swishes her bubble tea around with the straw, contemplating two photos for the 100th anniversary issue of MODE, a thought occurs to Daniel:

In the four years they've known each other, this is the first time that he and Betty have been without a significant other at the same time (and not in deep mourning over a dead spouse).

When he points this out to Betty, she gives a comically mournful sigh but then adds, seemingly to herself, "It's probably for the best."

**Tall**

Tyler is six foot three, and Betty's chartreuse top is uncharacteristically low cut today. Glaring at them from behind a mannequin, Daniel adds one more item to his Stuff I Hate About My Stupid Stepbrother list.

**Universe**

Molly sways in the arms of her new husband, light as air. For the first time in weeks her belly isn't iron with dread. Even the constant crushing headaches have given her respite enough to enjoy the moment.

Resting her chin on Daniel's shoulder, she catches Betty's eye across the room. Betty grins and waves, and makes an exaggerated _aw cute!_ expression at the two of them. Molly waves back, and wonders if she has the words to thank her for giving them this precious day. She doubts it, but she will try anyway. The sight of the quirky, admirable young woman fills Molly with a sort of relief about what's to come.

Molly has her beliefs, ones she can't explain to Daniel. He doesn't want to hear it, but she feels herself fading already, becoming a part of something else. Something larger. But she knows one thing as surely as she knows how to breathe and blink:

Even when she goes, she'll stay with him.

**Valentine**

This is Daniel's second relationship in two years that has gone up in flames right before Valentine's Day. Literally, in this case. He can't even spend two weeks wallowing in misery with his face buried in Renee's side of the bed – that won't work on Betty twice. Besides, everything still smells faintly like barbeque.

So he puts on a festive pink tie, ignoring the creeping apprehension in the back of his head telling him he's going to die alone.

**Wild**

As Betty tries not to listen to her new boss murmuring into the phone with yet _another_ model from yesterday's bikini shoot (he probably thinks it's seductive, but in her opinion he sounds kind of smarmy), she finally figures out the inspiration behind his bedhead hair style.

**eXplain**

DJ is an inquisitive, bright child. It makes Daniel fiercely proud, even if he can't answer most of the hundreds of questions his son asks every day. He still tries.

When DJ asks about obscure baseball rules, Daniel Googles them secretly and then pretends to know them all along. When DJ wonders how many pods there are on the average Ferris wheel, they take their fourth trip to Coney Island in as many weeks to research the answer. And after watching _Up_, DJ wants to know if he collects enough fairground balloons, could he really lift off the ground and fly? So Daniel calls in a favour, and the next episode of Mythbusters confirms it.

But when DJ comes to Daniel with some earnest and wide-eyed questions about his dad's bedside table, where he was searching for a spare iPod charging cable, Daniel wonders if there's anything in her contract that prevents Daniel from handing this one over to Betty.

**Young**

"Do you think . . . ?" Daniel swallows, his eyes wide. "Do you think I have a shot?"

Claire cups her boy's cheek. The pad of her thumb still fits perfectly into the tiny dimple in his chin. "There's only one way to find out."

Daniel closes his eyes, pressing his mother's hand to his face. Then he opens one again. "You'll come visit me, right?"

"As often as you'll have me, sweetheart."

Daniel pulls her into a hug, as warm and generous as the ones he gave her every day after school. "Better keep the Meade jet on standby then."

**Zero**

Even as he's pitching his idea to Alexis about rigging the scales by twenty pounds for Fashion Week, Daniel knows that if he were to step on one of those scales, it would read nothing. Zero. He has no substance.


End file.
